


reawakening

by motherherbivore (Airheart)



Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Background Optimus Prime/Ratchet - Freeform, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airheart/pseuds/motherherbivore
Summary: Prima finds that more than just Cybertron has changed during his long stasis.





	reawakening

**Author's Note:**

> had this sitting in my drafts for about a year, decided to put an open ending on it and share! I spend a lot of time thinking about what the other Primes would think of Ratchet

* * *

For eons, Prima slept. He had done his duty. The Star Saber was no longer his to wield, and the evolving people of Cybertron had no need for such a hero, so he slept, buried deep underground in the caves that had shielded them all during the Cataclysm. There, he was close to Primus, as near to his father’s spark as he could be. The soft thrum of the planet was a sweet lullaby.

He slept through the Origins, forgotten by the people his brothers and sister had created. He slept through the Age of Wrath, the Golden Age, the dark days of the plague and the war. He slept so deeply that he almost died when Cybertron fell sick and his spark nearly faded to nothing. 

Then the Well was reignited, the planet roared back to life, and Prima began to stir. His ancient coding and execution files came online slowly, self-preservation programs checking every function meticulously before allowing it to reboot, and it was half a vorn before he was fully awake again. He emerged from the cave to a Cybertron that he had never known, but felt like home anyway.

He felt the absence of his brothers in his spark—not as pain, but simply as an emptiness where they had once been thirteen parts of one whole. Solus and Onyx were part of the planet still, returned to their father, and Alpha Trion, he knew for sure, was dead now. He read about it on the DataNet when it came back online, some cycles after the Communication Grid did. Trion, they said, had been a guiding hand for millennia, the dedicated Archivist of Cybertron and a teacher to many. Prima was proud of him, and mourned the loss. 

For a long time, Prima sat in the Sonic Canyons, watching cities rise out of rubble from afar. He found the Communication Grid when it came back online, and listened passively to the voices of the people. They were bright, curious, innovative, full of feeling—he heard them rejoice as more bots returned to Cybertron, felt the echoes of grief as they tried to reach out to bots who were long gone. He heard Solus and Onyx in their passion and determination. They were not the simple, scared creatures that he and his brothers had sheltered during the Cataclysm, but an advanced, awe-inspiring society like he had hoped they would become.

Then, early one cycle, Prima felt Optimus in his spark again, as though he had never left. His presence was warm and familiar, so much like their father’s, and it comforted Prima. He reached gently out through the connection they had all shared since their creation.

_ I am still here,  _ he said.

He felt a flood of relief and happiness—not his own, but Optimus’s. The return message was short.

_ I am coming. _

* * *

 

The first thing that came to mind when Prima saw Optimus, some deca-cycles later, was that had he not known the energy signature, he might not have recognized his brother.

Optimus had always been one of the smallest Primes, second only to Micronus. His lithe frame had made him a versatile warrior, well-suited for speed, stealth, and strength alike—vital in their battle against Unicron, where no skill went to waste. In his reincarnated form, he had been even smaller, but now, he stood tall and heavy, with broad shoulders and strong, thick legs. He carried a sword and a set of powerful flight turbines on his back, and Prima could see where he kept more weapons tucked discreetly into his frame. 

More than his body, though, Optimus’s face was different. His optic ridges angled downwards, his optics were pinched at the corners, his mouth was set in a hard line even as Prima felt his relief and fondness. Once a gentle visionary, the very best of them, and now a hardened warrior. Prima wondered what he had seen in all these millennia.

“You look well, Prima,” Optimus said. He reached out and grasped Prima’s arm. “It is good to see you.”

“And you,” said Prima. He grasped his brother’s shoulder in return, leaning in to touch the crest of his helm to Optimus’s. They stayed like that for a moment, until Prima drew away and motioned for Optimus to sit. “You must catch me up on what you have done all these vorns.”

“And I will,” said Optimus, “but there are better places to do so. Would you accompany me back to Iacon?”

Prima looked to the north, towards the shining golden capital.

“Alright,” he said. “I have sat in these canyons long enough. Let us see what I have missed.”

* * *

 

Prima remembered Iacon when it was just a little village, sparsely populated by bright, promising minds with grand visions of the future, and those visions had clearly come to fruition. Some of the buildings were still in the midst of being restored, but the city was beautiful—a center of culture and art, and a work of art in its own right. Prima walked slowly, Optimus beside him, and he admired the strong, sharp architecture.

“They have done so well in our absence,” he said. 

“It was not always so picturesque,” Optimus replied. He let a handsome little one-wheeled bot pass them, then motioned down another street. “This way.”

“We knew they would make mistakes,” said Prima, “just as we did in the past. Where are we going?”

“The university hospital, to see Ratchet.”

Prima recognized the name from his perusals of the DataNet. “The chief of surgery?”

Optimus nodded. “The very same.”

“And who is he to you?” Prima asked. 

“My mate,” said Optimus. Prima almost stopped, but composed himself quickly. 

“You are bonded?” 

He couldn’t hide the surprise in his spark, though, and Optimus looked at him. 

“I know your opinion on such sentimental connections,” he said, “but it is no weakness.”

“I did not say that.”

“Perhaps not in so many words,” said Optimus. Spoken by anyone else, his words would have been harsh, but he said them without any malice. He was simply being perceptive, as he always had been, and Prima had never been secretive about his feelings on such a thing as love. The Primes had been created to fight, not to love, and they had certainly never been intended to bond. He still thought of the tragedy that was Megatronus, who would never return home because he could never love himself as Solus had loved him.

“Things are different now, brother,” Optimus said, “you will see. Things are better.”

Prima walked on.

They eventually came to a spacious courtyard in the center of a cluster of sleek, modern buildings. A slowly rotating hologram at the entrance showed the university’s name, and its motto underneath— _ In science, truth. In truth, light. In light, freedom.  _ Yes, Prima thought, they had come a long, long way.

Optimus led him to the west wing of the university hospital (Prima gathered from signs on the walls), up several levels to the internal medicine department. Some of the bots they passed on the way greeted Optimus by name, and one even stopped them. She spoke to Optimus in comfortable, familiar tones, and smiled at them both. Prima saw echoes of Solus’s frame in hers, in the strong curve of her chassis and her elegantly forged face. Optimus introduced her as Flashpoint, a physical therapist, and told her that Prima was his brother. There was no glimmer of recognition in her face when she heard the name, just as Prima had hoped. She only smiled at him again, and Prima inclined his head politely before she was on her way, saying that she had an appointment to get to. 

“You have done your duty well,” Prima said, quietly. 

Optimus was watching Flashpoint go. “My duty?”

“Getting to know the people. Understanding them.”

Optimus smiled slightly.

“It is not simply a duty,” he said, “it is life. Come, we are almost to our destination.”

Ratchet was smaller than Prima had expected—barely taller than Optimus’s hips, and even shorter next to Prima—but squarely built and strong. His armor was simple; old-fashioned and utilitarian, built for endurance but not speed. Prima could see vorns of military experience in his posture as he stood at his console, absorbed in his work. A small white bot was sitting on the desk, holding his own datapad and studying it intently. They both looked up as Optimus and Prima entered. Ratchet held his arm out to the little bot.

“That will be all, Undertone,” he said, and the bot promptly set his datapad down and transformed into a heavy disc which attached to Ratchet’s forearm. Ratchet patted him, then turned fully to the Primes. “We may speak freely. He won’t listen in.” 

“Thank you, old friend,” said Optimus. He knelt, and touched the crest of his helm to Ratchet’s for a moment in greeting. Then he motioned to Prima to come forward, and Ratchet eyed him shrewdly. Prima was strongly reminded of Alpha Trion’s calculating gaze. 

“You don’t see many builds like yours, these days,” Ratchet said. “Are you able to transform?”

Prima hesitated. He knew of the transformation cog, and knew that he possessed one, but he had never taken an alternate mode. It had never been necessary. 

His silence was apparently answer enough for Ratchet.

“How long have you been sleeping, Prima?” he asked. 

“I do not understand,” Prima said carefully. “I—” 

“He knows what you are, brother,” said Optimus. “And what I am. I hold no secrets from him.”

Prima stared at Optimus for a long moment. With any other Prime, any of their brothers or sister, he would have been angry. But Optimus was different from the rest of them—he always had been.

"I trust that your judgment is sound," Prima said at last. Then, to Ratchet, "My origins are not to be made common knowledge, doctor."

Ratchet drew himself up, looking steadily at him. “I have kept greater secrets.”

Privately, Prima smiled. 


End file.
